


Cold

by snack_size



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-27 23:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5069749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snack_size/pseuds/snack_size
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melisandre revives Jon, but he isn't quite himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redcandle17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redcandle17/gifts).



So many times since coming to the Wall, to going beyond the Wall, Jon had thought - I will never be warm again. 

Sweet summer child. 

“R’hllor has shown what his light can do,” Melisandre said. 

Jon wanted to laugh in her face. If he was the god of light, and fire, then why was he so cold? 

He felt the ice in his veins - it had never melted. He felt his hard, frozen guts each time he moved. He was so very, very cold. 

“Surely now you see-” Melisandre said to him. He put his hand to her flesh - and how was it she was so warm? He nearly expected steam, but instead Melisandre recoiled and stared at him. She had been the only one to accompany him and his horse as he left. 

“Three days, they say, they kept me in the ice,” said Jon. 

“There is much for you to do now, Jon Snow, you-” 

He laughed at her. He did not need to wear gloves now, either. The snow felt no different against his skin. 

“I owe you nothing...for this.” 

Three days - the last time he had felt alive, though there was less and less of him each time he saw the sun rise. But he had been warm, and he had tasted warmth when he had hunted. Jon dared not enter Ghost now, and the wolf had been gone since he’d - been returned? been reborn? 

And now what was he to do? How could he be Lord Commander, when his fingers were blue and white - they would put him to fire, surely as they had any other wight. 

“Tell me what you’ve done!” he had growled at her, when he had gasped for breath and returned - sharp, stinging, like being encased in ice. 

“R’hllor has returned you. He has-” 

“Tell me what I am,” he growled, and grabbed at her cloak and pulled her close - so she could see the shards in his eyes, crackling in patterns like snowflakes. 

Melisandre had pulled back and given him a smile - a promise. “You shall see,” she said. 

He slid his sword across his skin, and this, finally, produced steam and sizzle. Dragonglass did not penetrate it, though. He wished for Sam. Surely he would know - or would know how to find out. 

No one opposed him as he rode for Winterfell. Those who knew were likely relieved to see him go. He pulled his cloak around him out of habit and urged the horse on. What would Arya think of him? What would anyone who was left at Winterfell think of him? 

It mattered not. He would save her from the beast, and then he would take his leave. He would need to see what he was. Maybe he would ride North, farther North than anyone ever had - because what had kept them from moving further North but the cold and the Others? He need not worry about either now. 

The snow was near blinding, but Jon knew the way. He would always know the way home.


End file.
